


Sang me of some distant past

by Vampiric_Charms



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-29 03:24:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12622064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms/pseuds/Vampiric_Charms
Summary: A chat after the end of all things - and once all has been restored - can certainly solve a lot of problems.  Maedhros and Fingon finally have an afternoon to themselves after all crises have been averted.





	Sang me of some distant past

**Author's Note:**

> This is set after...everything, basically. Maedhros and Fingon are both reborn back in Valinor and this is, in fact, fluff. Believe it or not. 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

“You really did it, didn’t you?”

Maedhros lowered his book to his lap and glanced over to where Fingon was lying in the grass beside him, gazing over with a bemused expression across his face as though attempting to discern some great secret kept locked away.  Although, now, there were no great secrets and no great lies and no great horrors, and the wind blew around them across the nearby river, bringing with it the sweet scent of orange blossoms from the orchard.

“Did what?” Maedhros asked with a small grin, leaning back against the trunk of the large tree behind him.  Its leaves cast scattered shadows around them, breaking the gentle rays of sunlight, and he watched as Fingon rolled lazily to his stomach and rested his chin on crossed arms to continue staring at him.

“All that the others said you did,” he explained with very little clarification.  But then, voice softer, “Leapt into a volcano.”

“Ah, that bit.  Shouldn’t you like instead to hear how my brother kidnapped two children after going on a murderous rampage?  Apparently, according to them, I was both a horrendous father and a marvelous one.”

Fingon snatched a small pebble from the grass and threw it at him halfheartedly, his chuckle more than making up for his poor aim.  They both smiled at one another as the pebble bounced off the soft fabric of Maedhros’s tunic.  “I know all of those stories,” he said with another little laugh.  “Elrond has more than filled me in on your _escapades_ together, murderous rampages included, as I know you are aware.”

Maedhros watched him for a moment, stretched out and content in the grass so nearby, and felt a flutter in his heart, a flutter he was so sure he would never feel again after all the pain and devastation of the world before.  Fingon stared sleepily back at him, head down on his arms again and rolled to the side to better see him, and Maedhros grinned.

“You have never asked before,” he pointed out more from perplexity than anything else.

Fingon hummed in agreement, closing his eyes.  “You never seemed to want to speak of it, before.  I am asking now.”

“There is not much to tell,” Maedhros began to say, but Fingon cracked an eye open to look at him pointedly and he gave up that line rather quickly.  “Very well,” he said instead with a heavy sigh more for the memory than for the thought of having to share it with him.  “Shall I convey the long, winding version as my brother would or the short, concise one?”

“Share your _own_ version.  I already know you will tell me the truth, Nelyo, you have always told me the truth.”  

Fingon paused there, neither needing to speak as he slowly sat and rose to his knees to shuffle through the grass, unbothered by stains left behind by the vibrant greens stalks as they bent under his awkward movements.  Maedhros opened his arms without hesitation as Fingon drew nearer to him, and Fingon happily collapsed into them until he was nestled now against Maedhros’s chest.  The book fell to the ground, quite forgotten, as Maedhros held him tightly.  

“My own version _is_ rather short,” Maedhros told him, fingers finding the back of his head and curling through the wonderfully familiar braids.  There was no uncertainty as he continued.  “I was so tired then, Finno.  I simply...could not see any further way forward for myself.  I wished desperately for it all to end.”

“It’s true, then?  You did take your own life, you jumped.”  Fingon’s words were muffled against Maedhros’s shirt, but not enough to hide the sorrow there in his voice.

Suddenly - suddenly he was tumbling back down that abyss, through the heat and the blood-hot air, and the red orange black was rushing up to meet him, the Silmaril burning more than everything else surrounding, encompassing him -

But then just as suddenly the memories, the visions of the past vanished with an ease they never had in the old world, and he was again sitting under the tree in the leaf-broken shadows with Fingon, beside the river and surrounded by the scents of orange blossoms and grass and vibrant, cool air.  Everything was safe here, all was as it always should have been.

Maedhros canted his head down to nose against Fingon’s hair, closing his eyes and feeling the warm sun against his face and shoulders and arms.  He opened his eyes again, contented and unafraid.  “Yes,” he finally murmured in response to Fingon’s question.  “Yes, I did.”

“But what of Maglor?”

There was a tingling ache in Maedhros’s heart, and Fingon knowingly put his hand there as though to soothe the pain away.  It helped, and Fingon glanced up after a moment of silence, his calm, sweet face still pressed close to Maedhros’s chest.  Maedhros reached over to trace two fingers across his cheek, marveling at the touch, at the feel of warm skin under his fingertips that had been absent for so, so long.

“I was weary of being strong, Finno,” he explained softly, the memories feeling far distant now when they had only just been so close.  His fingers ceased their movement and instead he cupped Fingon’s face in his palm as their eyes met.  “I simply wanted it to be over.  I had already lived through far too much without my heart to guide me by.  I died a long time prior to the physical act.”

Fingon let out a huffing sigh and turned his face to hide it against Maedhros’s shirt again, forcing Maedhros to slide his hand back into his hair.  They stayed like that for several long minutes, as the wind rustled the leaves of the tree above and brought those crisp smells to mingle around them.  Fingon snuggled closer, both arms twining tightly around Maedhros’s waist.

Time passed in no great hurry.

Finally, Fingon pulled one of his arms back and reached for Maedhros’s left hand, fumbling for a moment over which was which now that there were two to choose from once more.  They chuckled together, smiles bright and full and carefree.  Delicate scars crisscrossed over the palm, when Fingon eventually brought it around to see, faint spider’s webs of a life long past and still an eye’s blink behind them, all over and not quite able to be fully healed from the Silmaril's searing brilliance.  

Maedhros watched him study his hand, his heart fluttering so tremendously with adoration, and then Fingon looked up at him with a dazzling grin.  He threaded their fingers slowly, one by one, bringing their clasped hands to his own beating heart and holding them there.

“We are together again,” he said.

“Yes,” Maedhros agreed, bringing their hands upward instead to press his lips to Fingon’s knuckles.  He let Fingon pull them down again as he laid his head back on Maedhros’s chest as before, tucking their hands together near his chin.

“Can we stay here for a while longer, Nelyo?”

Maedhros kissed the top of Fingon’s head, hiding his smile in that soft dark hair.  “There is nowhere else in the world to be now, Finno, aside from here with you.”


End file.
